iridian dreams (happiness is the least of our troubles)
by silverxsnowflake
Summary: what would you do if you lost your chance at happiness? R x N, oneshot


iridian dreams (happiness is the least of our troubles)

summary: what would you do if you lost your chance at happiness?

 **A/N: Hello, everybody. I do not own Shugo Chara, and have fun reading! This story was written in memory of a friend of mine who left recently to try to start somewhere else.**

The moonlight spilled into the chamber, bathing everything in pale brightness. In particular, the glass of water that he had set the night before on the nightstand seemed to be liquid mercury under the glowing beams that swept the vicinity.

Including the soft glow of the candles, the world was bright, if not particularly colorful.

Next to the wardrobe, the cat purred, and settled back down to sleep, her docile eyes blinking softly, before settling back down under the weight of fatigue.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, and gently placed the sheet of paper, along with the calligraphy pen and ink, on the desk underneath the tightly shut window.

Gazing through glass and watching the night sky did not seem to improve his mood very much.

That was to be expected, though, since it was entirely his fault that his feelings were in such disarray in the first place.

Pressing a hand to the window, he noticed that it seemed rather cold outside.

He hadn't noticed, but then again he had never been a particularly aware one.

His hoarse chuckle surprised him. Even though he knew that he looked like hell at the moment, it wasn't until that point he realized the extent that he had fallen.

Waves of guilt washed over him, eroding the frail fences and walls that his subconscious had thrown up to try and deflect the shame.

Outside, the cicadas cried, as if reproaching him for running from the truth yet again.

That was all he could, all he ever did anyways. Run from his problems, hide from reality. Even now after everything had already been revealed, he was still hiding.

Fireflies danced, just out of reach. His breath caught. They brought back memories, from when his life was still cut out for him. When he still had a future, when he was still happy.

What a funny word, happy. It had just been one of those other mundane words that were used to describe the world generically and endlessly.

But of course he wasn't. Happy, that is. How could anybody be happy, feeling like the ground itself would collapse out from under him, that he'd get an early ticket to Hell?

And knowing he deserved it made the feeling even worse.

Sinking into a nearby chair, not heeding the state of it – this house was older than his miseries, which was saying something – he hunched over, suddenly absorbed in his feet.

For where else was there to look at? Nothing of beauty could possibly touch him now.

Except, except. His breath caught, and the hole in his heart reopened, with a furious vengeance that left him winded, gasping for air.

There was simply no explanation that logic could offer about why he hadn't written back yet.

Perhaps he had intended to punish himself for being so needlessly foolish. No, that couldn't be possible, he reminded himself.

He was far too weak for anything of that nature. Above all, he craved happiness.

Then again, since when had he deserved happiness?

He hadn't written to her in days, weeks, maybe even months. It was easy to lose track of time when he was alone.

That was the only kind thing he had ever done for her.

Above all, he hoped that she would forgive him, and move on with her life. She didn't deserve him, she deserved someone so much better.

Looking up, he watched the hazy sky, and wondered what she was doing, if she even noticed that he was gone.

Of course she did. She cared, she was always the one who cared.

She made him happy.

But he made her unhappy. He wasn't strong enough, you see, to let go of Amu completely. It made her sad, to see him obsess over her, until she was drowning in despair and jealousy.

Anybody in their right mind would've left him by then, but she stayed.

She still stayed, and he loved her the more for it.

His heart cried out for him to love her, but how could he let go of the girl with the golden eyes, the bubblegum hair, whose easy gait and way of life had entranced him the moment he laid eyes on her?

And he was only human, so he couldn't let go, even when he knew that she didn't love him, would never love him.

It was funny, wasn't it, how true love wasn't a thing. One man's true love belongs to another.

She knew that he was only settling for her because he couldn't have Amu.

God, he was so messed up, and he'd hurt her so much, hadn't he?

His eyes strayed to the letter that he hadn't written.

No, this was his punishment.

"I'm sorry," he said yet again, and he meant it.

The tears that fell out of his eyes like rain and trickled down his cheeks burned.

But he didn't mind, since it had hurt so long that pain was just an afterthought, just another burden he had to endure.

And throughout the mansion falls a dead silence.

He isn't sure if he wants to die or stay alive, because death would be a relief from the emotional turmoil that he's been subjected to.

Then again, he doesn't want to die alone.

He remembers when he was a little boy, so long ago, and he was afraid of death, he was afraid of growing up and getting married and starting a new life like his parents.

Well, then, he was right about that.

Chuckling bitterly, he wishes he was a child again, wishes that maybe he'd have a chance to make it all right again.

But he'll keep on messing up, and he'll keep on being human.

She doesn't deserve a human, she deserves something even greater than that.

Somebody who can truly love her, instead of wishing for another.

Somebody that isn't him.

As the night becomes day, he reflects on all that's gone by.

Was it worth it, all this time?

Falling in love twice, and being hurt again because he couldn't let go of his first love?

Amu. Oh, God, Amu.

He knows that Ikuto is long gone - he left her, didn't he, a few years after their marriage - in some other country, with some other woman, away from her. He was tired of her, wanted a change.

Tadase is out of the question too - he got tired of waiting, ended up eloping with Yaya so he wouldn't have to inherit his father's company. They're happy, aren't they? Tadase and Yaya. They're happy because both have given up on their first loves.

Not like him and Rima. But it's all his fault, so he lets the thought fly away.

So now she's all alone, and it would be the perfect time for him to swoop in and be Superman.

But of course he can't, because he knows that she didn't love him, she never will, and he doesn't want to just be another cog in the machine for her to cry on. He loves her, but he isn't the one she needs right now.

The one she needs right now is dying.

Fifty miles away from this mansion, a man lies, bleeding out, in a ditch.

Nobody will ever find him, and if they do, he'll already be dead.

Why can't he and Rima be like every other couple? Why can't they be happy like his friends?

And at that moment, he finally realizes.

He never truly belonged, and neither did she.

The dancer boy who lied to everybody, who pretended he was a girl, who was so emotionally broken that he had to depend on a just as broken girl for support, the boy who wore masks, and could never take them off because he was afraid of what was underneath.

The girl who was slowly dying, but didn't tell anybody because she wanted them to continue on with their lives. The girl who was honest and true, who never put up a facade like the rest of them.

How fake they were, he remembers, pretending they were happy when they weren't. Pretending like things were alright, like they cared about each other.

It's a cutthroat world, and the only truly good thing that ever happened to him will die alone countries away.

And he can't visit her, can't say goodbye, because even his name causes her pain.

More pain than she should have to suffer.

The night wastes away, and he sits there, loving her memory.

* * *

At two in the morning, two years from when he exiled himself to Violet Manor, on Saturday, January 2nd, 2002, she has a heart attack, and finally slips away.

She's free, but he will never be.

He will always be haunted by the memory, of a girl who loved him.

Yes, he loved her back.

He just didn't know it until he lost her.

Now he's an old man, bitter from what the world has put him through.

And he remembers the way that she laughed, remembers everything that she was.

The cicadas cry out again, cry out in pity at his suffering.

How he wishes that he could say sorry, but he can't, of course.

Of course he can't.

Life is never kind enough to let even a second pass by again.

It's on a snowy day in November that she comes to visit - or at least, he thinks she does.

It happens when he's sitting in the garden, clad in a thick overcoat, listening to the wind.

He feels the sensation of hair gently tickling his gaunt cheeks, but sees nothing.

The tears come again, a flood that overtakes his body.

He shudders, his red eyes blindly searching for the girl he lost.

"I'm sorry," he says tearfully, and slowly, slowly lifts his hand, trying to find her head.

The warm feeling down his spine tells him he's forgiven.

The feeble smile that he gives her is probably not enough.

"Thank you," he whispers, "thank you."

And even though he can't hear it,

he knows that she accepts his apology.


End file.
